


Renewal

by hashtagsalads



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Sex, Sansan Russian Roulette 2018, mostly fluff and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hashtagsalads/pseuds/hashtagsalads
Summary: Written for Maroucia's Sansan Russian Roulette! Prompt was "spring, ice, flowers."Winter is here, and Sansa worries for Sandor as he fights for the good of the Westeros. Though she prays for his return, she knows he may not come back to her. Will her faith be rewarded, or will she lose the one she loves?





	Renewal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawntreader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawntreader/gifts).



> This is probably closer to show!canon than book!canon but I left it vague for the most part. When I read my prompt, this was sort of the direction my mind initially went, and I wanted to explore the idea. It's actually my first canon!era fic, and I hope it turned out okay!
> 
> Thanks to dawntreader for the prompt! It definitely got my creative juices flowing. Hope you like how it turned out!

**Ice**

 

Winter had come once again for the people of Westeros. Though it was likely nothing compared to the Long Night of the past, it was still going to be a trying time for everyone. As Wardeness of the North and the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa felt the responsibility for her people weighing heavily on her shoulders. Much of her time was spent managing things around castle, directing supply caravans, mediating disputes, and hearing out the concerns of the smallfolk. Though it was what she’d been raised for, she still found it taxing and was relieved when the evening came and she could retire to her chambers.

As much as she cared about the problems of the people, she still had concerns of her own and no one to air them to, not that anyone was the wiser. Sansa had very little to thank Petyr Baelish for, but the one thing she’d learned from him was how to lie. She maintained a diplomatic façade when walking the castle, but when she was alone she could let go and give attention to the worries that clawed silently in the back of her mind.

So many of the people she cared for had ventured forth to the Wall to join in the fight against the army of the dead. Just thinking of the danger they were all in sent a chill down her spine, as she curled up in her chair by the fire. She reached for the sewing project that she’d started as a distraction, but found that it did little to keep her mind from thinking of her loved ones and that she might never see them again.

Though she worried very much for Arya and Jon, there was one person for whom she was particularly fearful. After all, they’d only just been reunited after a long absence from one another. She’d been shocked to her core when she’d seen him at the gates of Winterfell with Jon and the dragon queen. Truly, he was the last person she had expected to be in Jon’s company, especially since she’d thought him dead at the hands of Lady Brienne.

Their first meeting had been awkward, filled with stiff politeness, as much as the Hound could manage anyway. Not that he was the Hound any longer, or so he’d told her. ‘The Hound is dead,’ he’d rasped, ‘Call me Sandor. None of this ‘ser’ or ‘my lord’ shite.’ He bore his usual gruff demeanor, but she could see that something inside of him had softened. Perhaps the Mother had answered her prayer after all.

Although many important things had happened at their arrival—such as Jon revealing he’d bent the knee to this Targaryen woman, them going to the Wall to fight, and her being named Wardeness of the North, to name a few—Sansa found she had cared little for anything that had been discussed. Instead, she’d waited impatiently through the day for another chance to speak with Sandor, this time in private. She’d made arrangements for him to have a room prepared close to her chambers, though not close enough as to start any rumors. He’d seemed surprised when one of the servants had showed him to his quarters but she’d wasted no time in making it clear why he was shown favor in such a way.

Their second meeting had been much better and she’d finally made good on all the dreams she’d had about him in his absence. He’d been resistant at first, disbelieving her interest. However, she’d pushed past his uncertainties, and they’d shared a very passionate night together, getting to know each other in ways they never had before. It had been wonderful and created a memory she would cherish in these dark times.

The project she now held in her hands only served to remind her of him even more, as it was a gift for him should he return from the battle. No. When he would return from the battle. She had to believe that he would come back to her, as he had already.

Sansa no longer wanted to look upon the cloak she was making, and set it aside, trying to ignore the burning pain in her heart at the thought of never seeing him again. Instead, she rose from her chair and went to stand by the window which had become frosted over with ice. Placing her hand against the pane of glass, it eventually melted until her handprint was all that remained in the spot, creating a hole for her to look out of. She clutched her cloak tightly about her shoulders, as she stared out at the stars and imagined him looking up at them, too.

She thought back on their last meeting before he’d left for the Wall. She’d tried to be strong and keep her concerns to herself, but at the last moment she’d broken down and begged him not to go. ‘Please, I can’t lose you again, not when I’ve only just gotten you back’ she’d cried, tears falling freely from her eyes. He’d cradled her face in his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs as he’d softly said, ‘Stop your crying, little bird. I’m an able-bodied man. How would it look if I stayed behind while others worse off than me went out to fight?’ She’d wanted to argue, but in her heart she knew that he was right. Instead, she’d sniffled and cast her eyes downward, shamed by her own behavior. He’d kissed her then, and vowed to her that he would return to her alive, as a man worthy of her hand.

Sansa had held onto that vow like a child clutching their favorite toy, wanting to believe that he would keep his word. After all, he had been the one to tell her that a hound would die for you, but never lie to you. And so, she waited, poring over each letter she’d received from Jon for mention of him—though there never was—and praying for a swift end to the war that none of them had known to fear.

 

**Spring**

 

With the end of the war came an abrupt end to winter. It was a strange but welcome surprise, and with spring here Winterfell was thawing out quickly. The ice which had coated nearly every surface of the castle exterior was melting, creating puddles of water all over the place. The ground was sodden, and the children delighted themselves with mud fights. Highly improper though it was, Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the young ones playing without a care in the world. However, it wasn’t just the children who were showing a carefree attitude; even the adults were displaying much improved spirits, many humming tunes as they worked and greeting everyone they saw with a broad smile.

Still, good as the mood was around Winterfell, Sansa still had a cloud hanging over her head. Jon had sent word that he was headed back to his home, but had made no mention of whether or not Sandor Clegane had survived and would be accompanying him. She wanted desperately to ask, but as they had yet to announce their relationship, Jon would question her interest immediately. She’d tried many times to come up with a roundabout way of finding out, but everything she’d thought of with was met with a general answer about the troops. He had told her that Arya lived, as well as Daenerys Targaryen—though that mattered little to her—but of course he didn’t think she’d care about the Hound, so he’d omitted him from his letters entirely.

She’d contemplated sending Sandor a letter directly, but with the possibility that it could be intercepted, she knew it was too great a risk. The men he was surrounded by were loyal to her, and she had a feeling they wouldn’t respond well to finding out he’d bedded her, despite her being a willing partner. Rather than have him lose his head, Sansa had simply let it be, choosing instead to pray for his safe return every night.

She had been in the great hall when word came that a party was approaching the gate. Her heart started hammering in her chest. This was the moment she would finally learn of his fate. Her mind went to the cloak she’d sewn him, sitting at the bottom of her chest in her chambers, right alongside another cloak he’d given her long ago. She prayed that she would be able to give it to him.

Standing in the courtyard, Sansa fought to keep her expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. The doors opened, and she steeled herself for the worst. Jon and Daenerys entered first on horses, leading the procession, with Arya not far behind. The rest of the men started filtering in, and she had to stop herself from craning her neck to look for him. She didn’t have long to search, however, because Jon had enveloped her in a firm hug, as he told her it was good to see her again. Arya was next, and though she didn’t say it, Sansa knew her sister had missed her, too. The dragon queen merely curtsied and insisted that she retire to her quarters, as the journey had been long and she was in need of rest.

Jon insisted they go to the great hall so that she might bring him up to date on all that had happened while he was away. Sansa knew she could not refuse him, for she didn’t have any reason to. Disappointed, she turned to leave with him, but as she did she caught sight of a man, head and shoulders above everyone else, his storm-grey eyes locked on her. Her breath caught, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying grateful tears. He lived. Sandor Clegane had kept his word and returned to her.

Much as she wanted to run to him, she knew appearances must be kept up, and she was certain he would understand. The first serving person Sansa saw, she stopped and ordered them to prepare him the same room as they had before. Though she could not greet him properly now, she would show him how happy she was to see him tonight.

As soon as it was appropriate for her to excuse herself from the high table after dinner she did so. Giving him a meaningful look as she exited, she hoped he would notice and follow her, and Sansa was not disappointed. The halls were mostly empty, as everyone was busy celebrating Jon and his queen’s triumphant return, so as soon as they were alone, he caught up to her and pressed her into an alcove, his lips claiming hers in a hard, unyielding kiss. She kissed him back with equal fervor, wanting to show him just how much she’d missed him in his absence.

When they broke their kiss, he breathed heavily, saying ‘Fuck, have I missed you, little bird.’

‘Likewise,’ she replied, pulling him in to lock their lips once more.

However he stopped her, whispering, ‘Not here.’

‘Your chambers, then?’ she asked, impatient.

He nodded, and carried her there, much to her delight. They made quick work of pleasing each other several times over before they laid together, spent. As she basked in his arms, she felt her heart thawing much like the rest of Winterfell, and couldn’t help but feel that spring was finally here at last.

 

**Flowers**

 

After a week of enjoying one another, she reminded him of the second half of his vow that he’d made to her: that he’d be a man worthy of her hand upon his return. Sandor had balked at her words and said that while he’d fought well and earned the respect of her people, he doubted they’d ever approve of him taking her for his wife. He told her that he’d thought he would die on the battlefield and had wanted to convey his true feelings to her before he left. When he didn’t die, he confessed he realized he’d never actually be able to give her what he’d promised.

‘What makes you so unworthy?’ she’d asked, not willing to let him off easily.

‘I have no lands, no titles, and nothing to my name. There are men I fought beside who had that and more, and I know that Jon intends to marry you off to one of them as a reward for their service,’ he explained, not meeting her eyes.

A white hot rage filled her at his words, knowing that Jon was treating her as a prize to be won, rather than a person with her own agency. Standing tall, though still naked, she said, ‘I am Wardeness of the North. My hand is not a reward to be given to the most loyal soldier, and I am not a tool to be used for an alliance. I choose who I will marry, and the person I choose is you, Sandor Clegane. If you’ll have me.’

‘Little bird, you know we can’t,’ he’d replied sadly, adding, ‘The whole keep would have my head before they’d see us married.’

‘We’ll see’ Sansa replied indignantly, hurrying to dress, and rushing out of his chambers to where Jon had taken up residence while he stayed at Winterfell.

She knocked three times but did not wait for an answer, barging in without hesitation. He looked up to her, startled, his hand already reaching for his sword until he realized who it was. Sansa also did not give him the chance to speak, demanding to know why he was offering her up like chattel to the highest bidder. He sputtered out a half-hearted explanation about strengthening the north and her doing her duty, but she didn’t want to hear it.

‘I am not yours to give to whomever you see fit. I am the Wardeness of the North, and the Lady of Winterfell. Who I marry is my choice, and I will do as I please,” she told him haughtily, standing to her full height, trying to appear as regal as possible.

‘Oh? And what would please you, my lady?’ Jon asked, mocking her title.

‘Sandor Clegane. I will be taking him as my husband as soon as I am able,’ she replied, gaze unwavering.

‘Clegane?’ Jon spluttered out, his face displaying unconcealed disgust and confusion, ‘Sansa, please, this must be a jape.’

When she said nothing, he protested further, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. She declared the matter closed, and turned to find Sandor to start making wedding preparations. Not that she had any notion he’d actually help her make any of the arrangements. She only wanted to know when he would be ready.

She found him sooner than she expected, standing in the doorway, slack-jawed. Upon seeing him, she asked if a week would be enough time for him to prepare to become her lord husband. He only nodded, still clearly dumbfounded that this was happening at all. It pleased her and she gave him a quick peck, partially because she wanted to and partially to show Jon she was serious in her intentions.

The time passed more quickly than she’d expected, though that was likely because of how busy she was. Between managing Winterfell, planning for her upcoming wedding, and arguing with Jon about said wedding, she scarcely had a moment to think.

When the time finally came, Sansa found herself waiting before the heart tree in the godswood. Arya and Bran were in attendance, as was Jon, though grudgingly. The only person who had yet to make an appearance was Sandor. As the hour grew later, she worried that he may not come at all, and wondered if she had been wise to push for this union. Perhaps he had not meant what he’d said in wanting to wed her. It would be the first lie he’d ever told her, and also the most devastating.

Just as she was starting to lose hope, he appeared, clutching in his hands a bouquet of wildflowers, freshly sprung. Sandor gazed down at her apologetically and explained he’d wanted to have at least something to his name to give her on their wedding day. She laughed and cried and held the flowers close to her heart, putting one in her hair when she passed them off as the time came for them to say their vows in front of the old gods and the new.

He put the cloak she’d made for him around her shoulders, and she was so filled with gratefulness and love that more tears fell from her eyes, though they were happy ones. They were wed, and for the first time in ages, all was well.


End file.
